Nostalgia and Its Perils

So, for reasons including excitement for my return, the search for names of places to find again, and general madness, I spent a large amount of time yesterday going through all the emails and chats I had while living in Paris in the Spring of 2008. Aside from being a fantastic waste of time, it made me the most nostalgic I've been in recent memory.
I have a love/hate relationship with this feeling - mostly because it is such a combination of wistful happiness and sadness for me. I was such a different person in 2008, in ways that are both obvious and more subtly hidden upon reading all this correspondence. It was a time in which I had very few responsibilities, was able to pursue new adventures and experiences (mostly) as I wanted to. While I have a (bursting at the seams) journal I kept during my time there that I've since reread, I think there's something interesting to be seen in how we interact with others - how it's a reflection of who we are at that moment.
And who was I at that moment? Happier, more free to pursue my impulses, not consumed with the specifics of how to carve out life for myself post-graduation, surrounded by beauty in a place I love. Yes, all of these things, but also less informed about who I was, so often frustrated about the silliest problems, and without the knowledge that I have now. The past 2-3 years have been joyful, frustrating, and nothing if not eventful. My relationships have changed - the same ones chronicled in these emails. And some don't even really exist anymore. Some of it does make me miss the version of me that wrote these emails - she's just different enough from me now to feel like a separate person. I find it startling to think about.
Plus, all my Paris emails are labeled and filed together in the organizational wonderland that is Gmail, so it's all there, compact and staring at me - whereas ten or twenty years ago, that time in my life would be scattered in mismatched letters and postcards that could accidentally be thrown away. On a more cheerful note, all of this makes me more excited to go back and see how I respond to the same places, tastes, and language that were part of my life before.

Speaking of Paris and all things French, came across these ads today, and they're so perfect. Also, it is possible for Scarlett Johannsson to not look fantastic?

Makes me want red lipstick. And champagne, of course.

Salvation City

Well, I just finished Salvation City by Sigrid Nunez, who was a writing professor of mine at Barnard and continues to be a mentor of sorts. I spent my senior year in her class, and immediately felt both intimidated and embraced by her. Most creative writing professors, in my experience, tend toward the all-inclusive, "everyone has something important to say" teaching style. There's nothing inherently wrong with this, and I'm certainly not advocating professors tearing down students' stories and styles, most of which are exceedingly personal and intrinsically connected to our ever-fragile egos. However, one of the things I automatically appreciated about Sigrid and her class was her no-nonsense approach. Her criticism was constructive, helpful, never excessive, and her praise was reserved for that which truly deserved it. I feel so lucky not just to have been taught by her then, but the fact that we're still in touch and she's still giving me encouragement and advice.
Also, as I've just experienced, she's written an incredible book. Salvation City has affected me in a way that I haven't felt in a while. Though the themes it deals with are big ones, and it's poignant enough to make you stop and think about the world, it's subtle and compulsively readable (thank you, job in Publishing. I now read so many book reviews I'm starting to write like one). In all seriousness, I admire so much about the book from a technical standpoint, but it's easy to love it purely for the story and memorable characters - which is why you read novels in the first place. To not get into too many details, the book is set in the not so distant future after a great pandemic, much like the Flu of 1918, which has left the world reeling. The narrator is Cole, a 14 year old boy who has lost both his parents and come to live with a couple in the fundamentalist Christian community of Salvation City. What I admire most is the way Cole narrates the story, skipping through time before and after the Flu but never leaving the reader feeling jarred or left behind. It's less than 300 pages, but it's the kind of book that was truly satisfying and taught me a lot. I actually laid there hugging it for a moment after I turned the last page.
I'm currently listening to a stereotypical (for me) "Writing Mix." Lots of Billie Holiday, the Beatles, and Annie Lennox, but "(You Make Me Feel) Like A Natural Woman", sung by Aretha Franklin of course, just brought me way back to memories of driving to school in the morning, probably more than 10 years ago. Aretha was a big hit on the morning drives, as was Van Morrison. I guess this bears mentioning because, at this point, my two brothers would be strapped into seats in the back, swinging their legs to the music. Now, they're both taller than me and turning 16 this weekend. Pretty amazing. I'm trying not to focus on the fact that this means I'm getting older, too.
It's cold and rainy here now, but that's not the only reason I'm running around closing all the windows in the apartment. Last night, I slept with my window open. This wouldn't normally be anything noteworthy, except for the fact that my window shares an air shaft with the identical building next door. In my half-sleep, the conversation two floors down and one building away sounded so clear as to be coming from the living room. As I was mostly sleeping and not in my right mind, I automatically realized that my apartment had surely been broken into, and the culprits were calmly discussing their breaking and entering on the couch. After mustering up enough courage to go investigate and discover that there was, of course, no one there, it still took two hours before I had calmed down enough to go to sleep, only half sure I wouldn't wake up to find all my earthly possessions carried away by some nonexistent burglars.

Catch Up

So, I have not been great about posting lately. This past week/weekend was a bit of a blur. Lots of work and play - so I've been distracted.
Life in Publishing has been great, busy, and made the past month and a half fly by (I can't believe I've had my job this long). It has also, peripherally, been stirring a bit of jealousy within me. I think it's the good, motivating kind of jealousy, though. Seeing young debut novelists get good reviews and exposure makes the whole game of getting published less mysterious and also more tangible...as in, why aren't you doing this?
As a result, I've been reading and writing a lot lately. As Faulkner said, "Read, read, read everything." Very wise words - nothing inspires me more. When I attended the Young Fiction Awards at the New York Public Library a while ago, I swiped copies of all 5 nominated books (a feat for someone in a pocket-less cocktail dress and a handbag barely big enough to hold my wallet). I've been blazing through them, the first being All The Living by C.E Morgan - a gorgeous and unique book for many reasons. The novel takes place on a dusty, lifeless tobacco farm in Kentucky and very little happens, but I can't remember the last time I was so engaged by such a seemingly simple narrative. The author, who went to Harvard Divinity School, weaves in religion in an unexpected and fascinating way. I love being able to see how clearly the ways in which our experiences can shape the way we express ourselves creatively. It makes me thirsty to do more and varied things.
Now, I'm on to Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower, which could not be more different. I was initially excited to read it, beyond the great reviews and the fact that it actually won the Young Fiction Award, because I think the title is badass. It also resonates with every story, which range from chronicling a man building an eclectic aquarium in a trailer park to hilariously following a group of vikings as they, yes, ravage and burn things.
This post has somehow turned into a book review. This is not surprising, as a large portion of my days now are devoted to me reading, scanning, and trying to get book reviews for our titles. Oh well. Tomorrow I'll cover the writing part of this rant and post one of the things I've been working on - which is narrated by a child, an exercise I love.
Also, there will be more tomorrow on the second job search...my work is never done! Plus, the wine-related aspects of my life haven't had enough airtime lately.
So, I exist. I am still writing this thing, and I will be back tomorrow.